


The Empty City

by orphan_account



Category: The Empty City
Genre: Amnesia, F/M, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-16
Updated: 2009-11-16
Packaged: 2017-10-03 02:28:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angel loses his memory.  Buffy deals with the consequences.  Post-NFA.  Thanks to thuviaptarth for the beta.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Empty City

He knew his name because the blue-haired woman had told him: Angel. "This is your domain," she had told him before he left. "Rule it or not, as you choose, but it is written into you."

It was not much of a domain. Angel still wasn't sure what she meant by rulership. He ventured out by night to raid the ruins of grocery stores for canned soup and chocolate bars, spent his days in the lopsided wreck of what had once been an office suite. One of the rooms contained piles upon piles of bones. Angel was sure some of them weren't human.

"They're dead because of me, aren't they," Angel had said to the blue woman. She had said nothing, only fixed him with that dispassionate blue gaze. The city was full of bones. Sometimes he woke from nightmares in which the sun burned his hands, exposing the bones beneath, and then even those crumbled into dust. Sun, fire, dust: the blue woman told him that he had been a vampire. Angel supposed he believed her. He wore a half-melted cross on a chain around his neck, scavenged from the bottom of a cash register: a talisman against his past.

Tonight the moon rode high, almost full, behind the streaks of clouds. Only the brightest stars shone from the veil of dust that shrouded the sky. Everything took on a silver-grey pallor, the lines of stopped, driverless cars and the cracked streets, the sidewalks stamped with cloven hoofprints and melted glass shards. Angel had enough food for the rest of the week, maybe longer, but he kept venturing into the mazed streets, looking for faces he couldn't name, listening for voices he couldn't remember.

He had grown so used to the city's utter absence of people that he almost didn't realize someone was waiting inside the office suite. No, two people. He could hear the shuffling movements of feet. Quietly, he slipped inside, ready to attack.

One of the people was the blue woman. Angel blinked. He had thought she was gone forever. The other was a blonde, fine-boned and brown-eyed, tossing a stake from hand to hand. "It looks like someone was here recently," she said. Then, alerted by some small motion, she looked up and saw him. "Angel," she said, very softly, as though she feared that he would disappear.

Angel said nothing but looked at the blue woman, awaiting an explanation.

"I told you," the blue woman said impatiently, "he does not remember us."

"That's not entirely true," Angel said. "You were there when I woke up."

"You don't know my name," the blue woman said.

He bowed his head. It was true.

"Angel, what happened?" the blonde said.

The blue woman said to her, "I had hoped your presence would be restorative, but it appears that I was optimistic."

The blonde ignored her. "That's not a cross you're wearing."

Angel fingered the cross. She flinched. "If it bothers you, I can take it off," he said, puzzled.

"No, that's all right," she said hastily. She took a deep breath. "I'm Buffy Summers. How do you do." There was an edge of bitterness in her voice. When he didn't respond, she burst out, "It's so like you to call down armageddon when I have my back turned. Do you know how many people used to live in this city?"

"I find their bones all the time," Angel said. "Just bones, nothing else, as if they died a long time ago."

"You should come with us," the blue woman said. "Nothing remains here for you."

"No," Angel said. "It's my city. You told me that."

"It is as empty as you are," she said. "Since you cannot change the city, you must change yourself. You cannot do that here."

Angel turned away from the two women. "There's someone I have to find."

"Gunn and Wesley and Cordelia are dead," the blue woman said relentlessly. "Spike has gone searching for a madwoman's soul. Lorne will have nothing more to do with us, despite my threats. Faith is--"

"--probably burning something to the ground because I wouldn't let her come," Buffy said. "But somebody had to watch the baby slayers."

Slayers?

"You _really_ don't remember," she said.

Angel shrugged uncomfortably. "I like it here," he said, which was not entirely true. Rather, the empty city was the only thing he understood: a shrine to death, and death, and death again.

"Fine," Buffy said. "I don't care what Illyria does. If you stay, I stay." She must have sensed his dismay, for she added, "Someone has to tell you who you are."

Illyria inspected Angel's cache of food and began alphabetizing the cans. Angel said, "She already told me a little. That I belong to the city. That I was its ruin, because there was something darker I wanted to stop, if only for a breath in the world's time. That my friends"--the word was difficult to say for some reason--"came with me. That I used to be something worse than human."

"Then she left out a lot of the things that matters," Buffy said.

"I don't want to know," Angel said.

Her mouth compressed for a second. "You will."

They had a cold and cheerless dinner of baked beans and Snickers bars. "I never thought you'd like chocolate," Buffy said. "Isn't this stuff bad for you?" Then: "I guess it's not like there's a farmers' market you can go to."

"I don't have any money," Angel said.

"Funny how you say that," Buffy said. "How do vampires pay rent? Rent tuxes?"

Angel plucked at his sleeve. The clothes Illyria had brought him, suits and black sweaters, seemed inappropriate to skulking about a dead city. He was wearing a T-shirt with an unreadable logo and jeans that fit too loosely at the waist.

"He's not a vampire anymore," Illyria said. She sounded as if the fact vexed her. "It's as well that there are no demons left to fight in this city."

"That just leaves the rest of the world," Buffy said. "I don't think scorched-earth tactics are too good an idea." She bit her lip. "My old high school was in L.A. I don't even want to look at what's left at it. Every I look, things are dusty."

"I'm sorry," Angel said inadequately.

Buffy shook her head. Her hands made an abortive gesture toward his. She drew them back into her lap, looking forlorn.

"I will leave you two," Illyria said, getting up. "Your supplies will stretch further without an additional person."

"Where will you go?" Angel asked.

"I have my own errands," she said. "I will find you again if I have need."

Angel nodded, wondering what she could possibly need him for. She wasn't the one with a blank space where her memories should be.

"Goodbye," Buffy said, sounding not a little relieved.

Illyria regarded them gravely, then passed out into the darkness. Buffy yawned. "Where do you sleep?" she asked.

"Blankets on the floor," Angel said. "I wash them when there's a good rain." He led her to the innermost office. "I'll sleep in the outer room, in case anything--"

"Please," Buffy said. "I'm a slayer. Want to arm-wrestle for it?"

He was curious, so they did. He lost before he even had a chance to blink. She was laughing at him. He found himself falling a little in love with her, this stranger who insisted that she knew him. "All right," Angel said, "we'll do it the other way around."

She reluctantly let go of his hand. "It's so strange that you're warm," she said. "Isn't it hard to get used to? Don't answer that."

What was a slayer that ordinary human warmth was so foreign? It must have to do with stakes and crosses and hunts in the scudding dark.

That night, he fell asleep to the sound of her light, even breathing. He woke in the morning to the sound of her putting together breakfast. "You should have woken me," Angel said. "I would have made something for you."

"I couldn't sleep anyway," she said. Despite her chirpy tone, her eyes were red. "I'm not as hungry as I thought I was. Do you want some?"

They shared a breakfast of Pop-Tarts and saltines with peanut butter. Angel was acutely conscious of her trying not to stare at him. After a while, they headed out into the street together, shadowed by an awkward silence. The sun was bleak and pale, straddled by grey clouds, and wind rattled through empty windowframes and broken doorways.

"It's just like patrolling in the old days," Buffy said in an attempt to make conversation, "but worse. Everything's too bright. And the whole place is a cemetery."

"What did you do on patrols?" Angel asked.

She looked straight ahead. "Vampires, demons. Saving the world. Saving puppies and kittens. Okay, maybe not that part. The usual. We--we used to patrol together."

Angel trailed his fingers across the charred hood of a car. "I must have been more useful back then."

"Yeah."

He tried again. "I'm sorry. I'm not good at conversation."

That earned him a wan smile. "Talking was never your strong suit."

They found nothing that day, or that night either. After several more faltering attempts at small talk, they returned to the office suite, sleeping in their separate rooms. They fell into a rhythm of sorts, patrolling the silent streets. No birds or dogs or cats, no insects or rats, disturbed their paths. Angel fell asleep sometimes thinking of how Buffy's skin would feel under his hands, but then he would look into her eyes and see the thwarted expectations there, and know there was no hope.

He could have asked her who he was, but he was afraid of the answers. What had he been to her, to make her look at him with that mixture of desperation, longing, and wariness?

One day, Angel woke up shaking, sitting straight up. "What is it?" Buffy said from the doorway. "You were yelling in your sleep."

"What did I say?"

"I couldn't tell," she said.

"There were wolves," Angel said. "Wolves in my dream, eating the moon."

"I thought wolves didn't like cheese."

Angel blinked.

"Not much with the humor still," Buffy sighed. "Shall we go for a walk?"

"Why not," Angel said.

The sky was still faintly pink at the horizon when they ventured outside. At an intersection, Buffy stepped over a fallen crossing light and said, with sudden heat, "Why don't you want to remember?"

"What good would it do me?" Angel said reasonably. "Having a lifetime's worth of memories--"

"More than a lifetime."

"--doesn't seem to have prevented me from destroying a city. Maybe things are better this way."

"I cannot believe you just said that to me," Buffy said. "You've done good, too."

Angel crossed his arms.

"Listen, we didn't always agree on the best way of doing things."

Judging from the color in her cheeks, that was probably an understatement.

"But you fought vampires. You _helped_ people."

"I am told that I also left a trail of blood across Europe, lost my soul at least twice, and brought down an apocalypse," Angel said. He turned away.

She caught him by the arm. Angel lost his balance and fell to his knees.

Buffy's face was full of chagrin. "I forgot that you're not as strong as you used to be," she said.

"I'm okay," Angel said. A few bruises wouldn't kill him.

She offered him her hand. He took it and got up. Then he found himself reluctant to let go. She seemed to share his reluctance, but pulled away at last.

"We shouldn't," she said. "Not until you remember. Besides, Illyria did tell you about the curse, right? Is it still in effect?"

"Do I look like a gypsy to you?" Angel said. "How would I know?"

"I'd rather not find out the hard way," Buffy said. "Been there, done that, sent you to hell. But then, you don't remember that either."

"Look," Angel said, "I can't help it."

"Have you _tried_?"

"Yeah, because all I have to do is say the magic word and everything comes back," Angel said. "I woke up and the blue woman--Illyria--was there. I don't know how long it was. I don't know what I was doing before then, or how I survived. It's all gone."

"You know, this isn't easy for me, either," Buffy said. She kicked the crossing light. "I've thought of a million ways things could end between us. Apocalypse? I can deal. We weren't ever going to live nice, ordinary lives with picket fences and happy endings. I've loved you, I've killed you, I've watched you leave me behind. But I never thought you would _forget_ me."

Angel said quietly, "I don't think I would have wanted to forget you."

She tilted her face upwards. He drew her into his arms and kissed her. She tasted of salt and heat and long days waiting. "I thought you said this was a bad idea," he said.

"It is," Buffy said, and kissed him again. She began unbuttoning his pants.

He flinched. She stopped. "Isn't this sudden?" he said.

"We've _done_ this before," Buffy said. "If you can't remember it, we'll have to do it again. And again, and again, and again, until you do remember. Please, Angel. I'm not a high school virgin anymore. Look, I even brought condoms." She turned a little pink as she said this.

"We're outside--"

"It's not like anyone's here to watch us."

Angel gave up arguing. Her hands were small and deft and strong. Angel and Buffy found the least cracked patch of sidewalk and, without words, decided that she should be on top. Angel supposed it was apt enough; he certainly wasn't the one in control of the situation. Her skin was as sweet as he had imagined it would be.

Mid-thrust he asked, "You mean we did this when I was still a _vampire_?"

Buffy rolled her eyes at him. "Don't tell me you're getting squeamish _now_."

He decided the proper answer was to shut up and resume what he had been doing. After she came, she lay against his chest, eyes half-closed, murmuring nonsense syllables. Angel combed out the tangles in her hair with his fingers and looked up at the sky. His back was starting to hurt, but there was no way in the world he was going to tell her that.

She sat up eventually and insisted on checking his back. "Still there," she said to herself.

"What?"

"Your tattoo."

He craned his neck to try to see it. "What's the tattoo?"

"I suppose I should be glad that's one thing Illyria couldn't tell you. It's a gryphon, I think. Are they real?"

"Gryphons? I don't know. But I don't see why not, if dragons are."

"I've never seen a dragon."

"I'm told I fought one." Angel shook his head. "I can't imagine that was a fun fight."

"You used to be stronger," she reminded him.

"Vampire, fire?"

"Touché."

The sky was darkening. Angel said, "I think it might rain. Let's go back inside."

In fact, it rained for the rest of the day, and most of the night besides. They lay in the darkness, listening to the patter of the rain and memorizing each other's bodies. Angel rather thought that he would like to draw Buffy, although he suspected that no pencil or paint would suffice to capture the delicate bones, the fierce grace with which she moved. For that matter, he didn't know if he could draw at all. He hadn't had any opportunity to find out, and it was one of the things that Illyria hadn't mentioned.

When the rain stopped, they resumed their patrols. Angel led them into different parts of the city. Buffy asked him how he knew his way around so well, and he said that he had had plenty of time to explore. "I don't know whether L.A. seems bigger or smaller now that there's no one in it," she said. "Everywhere I go, it's all the same: empty. Bones in different patterns, that's all."

Driven by memories of dream-wolves, Angel kept searching. They came to the gutted remains of a high-rise office building. Buffy stared at the sign in front. "This used to be Wolfram &amp; Hart," she said. "I don't have a good feeling about this."

"We have to go in there," Angel said. "Someone might be--"

"--alive? Because we've seen so many signs of life?"

"I have to do this."

Grumbling, Buffy preceded him into the building. She motioned for him to stop. He did. He didn't hear anything, but presumably slayers had better senses than ordinary people.

There it was. Footsteps.

"Come out, whoever you are," Buffy called out.

A woman came down the steps. She was thin, and there were dark circles under her eyes, but her blouse and skirt were immaculate. "Hello, children," she said. "I see you've found your girlfriend."

Angel looked at Buffy. Buffy looked at Angel. "Do you know her?" Buffy said. "I don't know her."

The woman smiled crookedly. It wasn't a pleasant expression. "I'm Eve. Now that we all know who we are, why don't you turn around and leave. There's nothing here for you."

"No," Angel said, suddenly certain. "I have to help you."

The woman laughed. "Angel, sweetheart, you helped me plenty by destroying my life. I think the best thing you could do for me is leave me alone."

"Who _are_ you?" Buffy said. "How do you know Angel?"

"I was liaison to the Senior Partners," Eve said, "and then there was that one time we--but I expect he wouldn't have told you about that."

"Told me about what?"

"Honey, you don't have to worry. It was only the one time."

Angel was pretty sure that Buffy didn't hear the bravado behind the sneer.

"I don't believe I'm hearing this," Buffy said. "Angel, shall I drag her outside so we can have a fight? I feel like having a fight."

"I don't think that's the best idea," Angel said. "Eve, can we talk? I--I suppose you should know this. I don't have my memory."

"And you've got a pulse, I can see," Eve said. "Bravo for you, champion. Everything you ever wanted, all tied up with a pink ribbon. Go live your life."

"It can't be good for you to stay here," Angel said stubbornly. Buffy made a choking sound. "Eve--I'm not saying we have to be friends. But there has to be something more for you than this."

Eve scoffed. "In this city? I don't think so. It's empty. No hope, no hearth, nothing."

"That can't be right," Angel said. "As long as one person remains in this city, it's not empty. And there's more than one of us here, and there's no reason that we have to stay separate."

"You really don't have your memory, do you."

"Let's not start," Angel said. "Please, Eve."

"The last time I saw you," Eve said, "you were going off to your final battle. You told me Lindsey wouldn't be coming. You left me with nowhere to go."

Buffy said, "Why am I guessing that you two don't exactly have a history of kittens and fluffy bunnies?"

"I'm offering now," Angel said. He was starting to have a headache. Who was Lindsey? "I don't care what's gone down between us in the past." Buffy muttered something under her breath. "Just come out of the building. We can figure things out from there."

"How do you know I won't stab you in the back while you're sleeping?" Eve said.

Buffy cleared her throat.

"As if I'm any match for a slayer," Eve conceded. She walked toward them. "All right, champion. I'm in, at least for tonight."

"Don't call me that," Angel said. "I'm no one."

"This is seven hundred different kinds of bad idea," Buffy said, taking Angel's arm, "but much as I hate to say it? She's not entirely wrong."

Eve didn't have much in the way of belongings, and shared among three people, they weren't much of a burden. But then, that had always been the way of things. Angel wondered if that was something he had known before. He hoped so.

In the meantime, the city awaited them, bleak and beautiful. They walked back toward the office suite, no longer alone.


End file.
